


Curl

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Grooming, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray and Fraser bicker about hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curl

**Author's Note:**

> A snippet that got too long for ds-snippets. Rescued from the back files.

Ray’s bathroom— _their_ bathroom—is really too small for two to use at the same time, but somehow they always end up doing so anyway. Perhaps because they shower together: a delightful, if inefficient, habit to which Ray introduced Fraser, and to which he has become a convert. After showering, they shave and go through the rest of their personal routines, jostling elbows and edging around each other in the cramped space.

“How come you do that?” Ray asks from behind Fraser, who is taking his turn at the mirror to comb his hair.

“Do what?”

“Slick it down like that.” Lounging against the wall, Ray doesn’t even have to move in order to touch Fraser. He rubs the ball of his thumb over the short hairs at Fraser’s nape, first with the grain, then against, making Fraser shiver pleasantly. “I mean, okay, uniform, regulations, blah blah blah, but what, you’re not allowed to have curly hair?”

“I do have curly—”

“Exactly. That is exactly my point. ‘Cause you wouldn’t know it to look at you, but. . .” Ray’s hand suddenly darts upwards, ruffling Fraser’s damp hair until it sticks up every which way. Fraser bats at him, but only manages to crack his elbow on the sink for his pains.

He turns to glare at Ray, who gives him an unrepentant smirk but is quick to cross his arms in front of his face to ward off retaliation.

“Why don’t you wear yours flat?” Fraser asks mildly. “Think of the gains in efficiency, to say nothing of—”

“’Cause I look like a dork,” Ray snaps. “I look like a _kid._ But you, when—like when you get wet and your hair dries out curly, with that one part that. . .” He tugs a lock of hair down over Fraser’s forehead, caressing Fraser’s cheek almost idly as he moves his hand away.

Fraser waits to hear the end of the sentence, but Ray seems to have distracted himself from his own point. Head tilted, he looks at Fraser, absorbed. Though he feels self-conscious, on display, Fraser fights the urge to turn away. He lets Ray look; watches Ray look at him, and finds himself warmed by the combination of tenderness and intensity of that regard. 

Finally, Ray shakes himself out of his trance. He purses his lips.

“Actually, you know what? Never mind. You’re right. Nobody else needs to see that.”


End file.
